


Cling To Me

by abovethesmokestacks



Series: Cling To [2]
Category: Picnic - Inge
Genre: F/M, Semi-Public Sex, but i tried, so many terms of endearment, there are probably a ton of cultural inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: In a second, the photographer takes you under his arm, pulling you around to meet the man you would apparently be spraying with water, and you can feel a flush already working its way up your cheeks, because this is not something you thought you would be doing. Keeping your eyes trained on the floor so as not to stumble over any cables, you don’t see much else than a pair of faded jeans and scuffed boots. You feel your insides freeze up. What is he doing here?“Name’s-”He falls silent when your eyes meet, a flicker of recognition flashing in blue eyes that you know all too well. What the hell was Hal Carter doing here?





	Cling To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, this took me a long time to post, even though it's been on my tumblr for a good long while.

“Miss? Um… Miss?”

You heave a sigh, trying your best not to crumple the papers you’re holding. For three months, you’ve been working at the studio, one of the few women on payroll, and a good portion of the men still seem to think your name is “miss”. It’s not that you expected them go out of their way to learn you name, to show the overwhelming appreciation for what you do, but it would be nice to at least have your last named tacked to the title.

Schooling your features into a mask of pleasant inquiry, you turn around to see one of the men in charge of lighting waving at you. “Mr. Henderson, what can I do you for?”

Just because they are insensitive doesn’t mean you can be. In your short time, you’ve already seen three errand boys fired for minor infractions, and you need this job, even if it means a workplace your parents would most certainly blanch at if they knew the true extent of it, spending an hour each morning to make yourself look presentable and co-workers that don’t know your name. Living here is not cheap, and the salary you make is just enough to cover your costs each month.

“Danowitz needs you to help out.”

The request isn’t out of the ordinary per sé. Even if the work you did was mostly secretarial, you would sometimes be called in to assist on shoots if for no other reason than the model was a first timer, a young girl who would be soothed by the presence of another woman in a room otherwise full of men. What makes you quirk an eyebrow is the fact that it’s mr. Danowitz requesting you. He almost exclusively shoots male models, the kind of shoots that bring a flush to your cheeks if ever you happen to pass by the room they were using and the doors are propped open.

Giving a curt nod, you brush past Henderson, heels clicking against the floor. It’s gotta be another first timer, you reason, some poor girl who’s intimidated by the situation. Not that you blame her. Danowitz is a bear of a man. Courteous, for sure, but from what you’ve understood a demanding man behind the camera. Approaching the man’s studio, you took a deep breath, straightening your blouse and skirt before stepping inside.

The set is oddly calm, you had expected there to be a flurry of personnel running around adjusting lighting fixtures, assistants rushing to switch off cameras, not to mention a model in the focus of it all. You spot Danowitz in a corner, discussing with his set director.

“Mr. Danowitz, sir?” you speak up, calling the attention of the photographer.

“Great, Jim found you!”

“Yes. He did.” You can’t help the stab of consternation. Even ‘miss’ is better than ‘you’. “How can I be of assistance?”

Danowitz dismisses the set director, coming up to tower over you, giving you a look meant to convey camaraderie, but only served to put you more on edge.

“See, we got a special shoot,” he confides, lowering his voice, “and we need some assistance with the model.”

Well, you gather as much. You can almost imagine the model already; waifish, big doe eyes, not yet in control of her body and how it moves. You aren’t sure why it merited an intimate conversation about it.

“It’s a simple job, it’s just…” He scratches his neck, almost looking a little embarrassed. “Well, it’s much better suited for a woman than any of the guys here.”

What?

“Mr. Danowitz, what exactly do you need my help for?”

The photographer opens his mouth, then closes it again, putting up his index finger in a gesture for you to wait. You try not to roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest while Danowitz runs off to the side to pick something up, returning promptly and handing you-

“A plant mister?”

“Yes. I need you to go in in between shots and spray the model. Trust me, it’s gonna look great in the pictures! Think you can do that, sweetheart?”

Absolutely ridiculous. They are gonna soak up some poor girl for a series of shots? You have half a mind telling him as much and then spraying him in the face, but you force your lips into a tight smile and a curt nod.  _“Food on my table and a roof over my head,”_ you chant quietly to yourself, holding the glass container tightly in your hands.

“Where’s the lucky model?”

Danowitz looks over his shoulder. “Should be gettin’ back from break now. Took five to do wardrobe change.”

A door opens behind you, and Danowitz lights up like a child receiving its favourite toy. “There we are, the man of the hour.”

Wait, what? Man? No, no, that could not be right.

“Mr. Danowitz?”

In a second, the photographer takes you under his arm, pulling you around to meet the man you would apparently be spraying with water, and you can feel a flush already working its way up your cheeks, because this is not something you thought you would be doing. Keeping your eyes trained on the floor so as not to stumble over any cables, you don’t see much else than a pair of faded jeans and scuffed boots.

“Why don’t you say hello to our pretty assistant? She’ll be helping you out for this part. A real peach, this one.”

“Pleased to meetcha, miss, I hope you’re not too put out by this.”

No.

_No, no, no._

You feel your insides freeze up, time slowing down in the short fraction of a second it takes for you to snap your head up. What is he doing here?

“Name’s-”

He falls silent when your eyes meet, a flicker of recognition flashing in blue eyes that you know all too well. What the hell was Hal Carter doing here? Last time you’d seen him, he’d-

If you weren’t already blushing, you definitely are now, his toned chest making memories of the night you two spent in the barn flood back into your mind, of thick muscles under the palms of your hands, hushed praise and pleasure spiking through your body. The best night of your life and part of the reason you’re here today.

To Hal’s credit, he regains his composure quickly, firing off a smile that is all too familiar and holding out a hand before continuing, “Hal. Hal Carter.”

“Pleasure,” you mumble, ducking your head to look down at his scuffed boots again as you share a quick handshake. It had to be one of these shoots.

“Don’t mind the lil’ miss, she’s just a bit coy,” Danowitz jokes, one large arm coming around your shoulders to shake you in a way that is a bit too friendly for the setting. “You ready for the next half?”

You don’t hear him answer, just assume he nods his assent. You don’t feel yourself moving, but somehow you find yourself under bright lights, the mister shaking ever so slightly in your hands. You don’t know if either of you talk because you are trying not to stare at the way the droplets cling to his skin and slowly roll down in rivulets over muscles moving tantalizingly under tanned skin only to soak into the waistband of his jeans. You don’t feel time passing, don’t notice movement of back and forth, of waiting, of new layers of mist, because you’re too busy reliving that moment in the barn. Thighs squeezing his hips, a delicious burn inbetween, the husky whispers as he coaxed you to fall.

“Hey, doll! Further down!”

Danowitz rudely pulls you back with a barked order. The mister almost slips from your hand, Hal’s palms coming up to cup yours to keep it from hitting the floor and shattering into pieces. It’s like waking up from a dream, the heat of the lights glaring down on your neck. Further down. Your eyes skate over his chest, still avoiding his face, and you blush when you realize he’s standing there with his jeans unbuttoned, the zipper still keeping them from slipping down his hips, but only just. Your thighs clench at the sight of the light dusting of hair starting at his navel and teasingly creeping down into the denim.

_You wanna follow it._

“Chop, chop, we ain’t got all day! This is the last one, I got a new client coming in ten!”

Swallowing thickly, you press down on the pump, spraying Hal with a new sheen of mist, your grip on the pump making your knuckles pale. As soon as you’re done, you strain to keep your composure, backing away and setting down the mister on a table in a corner.

Part of you wants to leave, feeling inconvenienced for being brought in, even more so because it’s  _Hal_. Another part of you has your feet firmly planted, eyes trained on him as he moves. He’s still rough around the edges, but his body is the exact same, a wonder of planes and muscles and temptation. Danowitz barks directions and he follows. It’s not the static, cool images that will show up in any reputable publication. Your mother and her book club will never lay eyes on these pictures. This is raw heat captured for the pleasure it brings, for eyes that crave more, a mind long since free of conventions governing the body.

You’re no professional, but it’s hard not to appreciate the curve of his back, the way his hipbones jut out in certain poses, the smolder and ease in his eyes. He loves this. He loves the focus, the movement of body parts, the disconnect from the rest of the world while his glory is immortalized. Does he know just how beautiful he is like this? Does he know how weak he makes you and how you still can’t look into his eyes because they burn with something you haven’t lingered on in a long time.

Your parents were not happy when you declared your intent to move after college. Expectations dictated you should find a suitable husband, settle down, have a family. The same story repeated over. Your declaration disappointed them more than if you had come home at the end of your second year to tell them you were dropping out. You couldn’t. Returning home scared you. Hal had awakened something in you, a longing for more. He remained the only man you ever took to bed, but you kept returning to the memories, quietly bringing yourself to completion that never lived up to what you remembered. As soon as you had graduated, you dropped your bomb and got on a bus. You call them every once in a while, and although they still don’t approve of your “flighty excursion”, they at least sound a little relieved when you tell them you’re doing alright, that you have a job and a roof over your head.

“Beautiful! That’s it, we got it! Great job, Hal!”

Danowitz’s booming voice makes you jump, and pulls your gaze to the lit stage, to Hal on his knees and-  _oh, no_. Your eyes meet, his still full with passion and want that you’re sure could have melted the film in the camera, because it sure as hell is melting you. It’s the same look he had in his eyes when you came undone around him, a heat that now burns all over your skin, smoldering in the pit of your stomach.

You hold eye contact for one more second, then he moves and he’s still got his eyes set on you. It unlocks your limbs and you hurry out as inconspicuously as you can, your heels clicking down the corridors in your hunt for a hideout. You warily look over your shoulder, cheeks burning and fully aware how utterly ridiculous this is, but you can’t stop yourself. Finally, you come across a small office space. It’s still vacant after the last inhabitant got promoted and no one has yet been reassigned. The door is unlocked and you’re inside in a heartbeat, thankful for the pulled shades that shield you from the rest of the office.

“Damnit…” you mutter, your hands desperate for something to fidget. “Damnit, damnit, damnit!”

He left and you didn’t expect to see him again. He’d promised to remember you, and you had been content with that, a fair outcome of your coupling. To see him again, to see him like this… Your hands find purchase, unbuttoning the two top buttons of your crisp shirt, pulling at it to fan air against your heated chest. There had barely been any touches between you save for the handshake and he still had you as much on edge as when he mapped out every spot between your thighs for pleasure with his tongue. Your thighs clench again at the memory, your breath hitching at feeling the wetness already pooling there.

The door swings open, making your heart nearly shoot out of your chest, a frightened yelp escaping you before you clap your hand over your mouth. You know you’re lost the second you look into Hal’s eyes, his pupils dilated, shirt only half done up. That doesn’t mean you won’t try to resist.

“Hal.” His name is easy, familiar on your lips, but the rest of your words are locked up in your throat.

“Didn’t figure I’d see you again, sugar,” he says, voice silky; a pleasant tone that lulls you into some sense of comfort. “Least of all here.”

“Needed to see the world. Wh-what about you?” you stutter, suddenly all too aware of your unbuttoned blouse. It’s a ridiculous thing to worry about, he has seen you naked.

“Seein’ the world. Needed the cash. That photographer paid a handsome sum for those pictures.”

You want to ask him if he knows where those pictures will end up, what he signed away along with his body. Then again, Hal doesn’t seem the kind of man to care. Maybe he’s signed himself away a long time ago.

“Getting to see you again was a nice bonus.”

He steps up, and you can feel his touch before his hand comes up to rest lightly over yours. It’s electric, energy shooting through your nerves, a scintillating warmth following in their path. You can’t stop looking at him now, the years apart now demanding you take in every inch of his face, drink in the emotions radiating from his eyes. He hasn’t changed, not where it counts. He still looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this moment, gaze reverent as it sweeps over you.

“Never forgot you, sweetheart.” His voice is husky, his thumb rubbing sedate circles over your knuckles. “Not one day. Thought about coming back, get to see you again, dance with you again.”

The words trip out of your mouth before you have time to edit yourself: “Just dance?”

His smile turns dark and teasing in an instant, his hand running down your sides until they land at your waist to pull you close.  _Dancing form,_  you tell yourself, your mind tripping over the words,  _Chest to chest, hand on waist. Just like-_

“I remember that, too. God, sweetheart, you were so soft, I thought about you every goddamn night. Thought I was gonna fall to pieces when I saw you today.”

“It was a surprise,” you admit, your muscles slowly going lax in his embrace, the warm, comforting scent of him reminding you of a happier time.

“Couldn’t concentrate properly. Kept glancing over at you, you look so damn pretty in this getup, sugar. And then having you so close and not being able to kiss you or hold you.” He stifles a chuckle, lifting your right hand to place a kiss on it. “Thought I was gonna go mad.”

It pulls at something in you, eases the strange worry that has been gnawing in you since you set eyes on him on set. Why should you have anything to fear? He’s ever the same; cocky and handsome, but never cruel or presumptuous in his advances. You hum, letting your other hand drift up along his torso, coming to a halt on his shoulders. Just a dance. It always starts with a dance, doesn’t it?

Forwards. Backwards. Sidestep. Pause. It takes a while for rhythms to sync up, but then, goodness,  _then_. He kisses like a man parched, soft sighs into each gentle press against your lips. You give yourself a second to dream, to indulge yourself, to think this is the home you have missed, that this is your final destination. But Hal, he doesn’t stay. He had left somewhere when he came to your town, just like he left it after your tryst. You know he will leave after this, that there can be no expectations attached. Maybe it’s just as well. A simple exchange, and there’s no one you would trust more with your physical pleasures than Hal Carter.

“Please…” you mumble between heated kisses, your voice a mere breath in the silent room.

“What do you need?”

It’s a simple question, but the answer defies words. You want and long and pine for him, for another first that you can never have, for satisfaction, for a scratch to settle an itch you realize you have carried for a long time. Instead you show him, bringing him in even closer, fisting his shirt in your hand, kissing him with a hunger to match his own. It sets off sparks shooting through your body, thrilling at the familiar touches of his hands sliding up your body, lips against yours, warm breath fanning against you.

“God, sugar…” He mouths against your neck, the soft breathy words tickling you and sending goosebumps down your arms. “The things you do to me. Lookin’ so god damn sweet and sexy in that little outfit. Couldn’t get up from that last pose they had me in.”

“Did I bring you to your knees, Hal?”

He gives a throaty laugh, lips trailing up to nip at the shell of your ear: “Baby, you had me so goddamn hard I was afraid somethin’ would pop outta these jeans if I got up too fast.”

To make his point, he thrusts forward, letting you feel the length of him against your thigh, not fully hard, but enough to have your breath stuttering. You remember all too well how he stretched you, brought you pleasure with each thrust. Whimpering, you try to stretch your pencil skirt to part your thighs further. Hal only lets out a breathy laugh in reply, backing you up until your thighs hit the empty desk at the back of the room before falling to his knees and letting his hands smooth up your stocking-clad legs.

“Sugar, please tell me…” he murmurs, pushing up your skirt and pressing kisses to the silky nylon only to suppress a groan when the edge of your stockings and the cream-coloured straps of your garter come into view. “Fuck, I love these, baby. If you’d had these on last time, I don’t know that I’d made it to the barn. Woulda had you in the first dark corner I woulda found.”

You shiver at his words, shiver at the way he murmurs them against your skin, nuzzling against the silk and metal of the straps, so close to where you want him. He has barely started and your body is already thrumming, feeling more satisfied than you have after taking care of yourself.

“Will you let me have you again, sweetheart? Just this once, I need- Please, baby, wanna taste you, feel you again.”

You put up only a token protest because of the space you’re in, but truth be told you have wanted him again since that night. You know that should anyone come in at any point now, you can kiss your job goodbye and Hal might not get his paycheck for his troubles. The sensible thing would be to break off. The less sensible thing, but still more sensible than this, would be to invite him home, pick things up there. What you do is none of that. What you do is let out a shuddering breath, finally parting your legs like you have wanted to for the past half hour. What you do is play a reckless game, because you know nothing has changed. He will still leave, because that is who he is, and you won’t hold it against him. Your heart beats a mile a minute when Hal picks up on your invitations and kisses higher up your thigh, stopping just short of the the silk and cotton of your underwear and garters.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Gotta tell me.” He looks up at you, eyes dark and lips slightly parted to show the tip of his tongue. “Don’t wanna do nothin’ you’re gonna regret.”

“Wh-what about you?” you counter, grabbing the edge of the desk to steady yourself. “You could get into trouble, too, Hal.”

He smiles, all teeth and wickedness. “Nah, baby. I could regret a lot of things but this… you… never gonna be one of ‘em.”

It’s everything any woman would want to hear, and you keen, letting your head fall back. He’s so close, and you want him so much. “Please, Hal…”

“‘M right here. You just gotta tell me. Don’t want to do anything untoward. Do you want me? Would you let me take care’a you again?”

Your reply comes out as a breath, but it’s clear enough for Hal to hear it, to groan before his hand comes up to pull the crotch of your panties aside and lay a soft kiss on your mound. You try to tell yourself you have felt this before, that it’s nothing new, but your body still tenses up at the sensation of his lips kissing sweetly down your folds, his tongue licking a teasing path up and down before diving in to part you. It’s enough to make you feel like your body is dissolving into pieces, and not enough at all. It’s soft caresses that begs for moans to spill from your lips, but you know you can’t.

“God, I missed you, sugar.” He kisses you, lips lingering on the swollen pearl that always has you coming, his name on the tip of your tongue. “I don’t pretend I’ve been a saint since last, but god, I could never forget the taste of you.”

He nuzzles against you, the tip rubbing ever so lightly while his tongue traces your folds down to your entrance, dipping in once to coax your juices out. A whine escapes you, your hand flying up to keep yourself quiet. Hal only lets out a dark snicker against you.

“Gotta be quiet now, won’t we, baby? Can’t have your bosses and co-workers come in now, can we? Maybe I should go lock the door, huh?” He tastes you again, managing to mask his moan in a long exhale. “Or maybe you don’t want that? Maybe you want it unlocked, so anyone could step in, see you spread out before me like this?”

You want to tell him no. You want to tell him you’re hyperaware of the door and the fact that it’s unlocked, but the only thing it does is make your skin flush hotter. You’ve walked around this office for months, nameless and nigh invisible. What if someone walked in? Maybe this is the day someone gets reassigned to this office, packs up their stuff to move, opens the door…

“Fuck…”

It sends another surge of wetness onto Hal’s eager tongue that he diligently laps up. He works you slowly, letting you relax under his ministrations. One of his hands snakes up under your skirt as far as the restricting fabric allows, soothing along the silky garter and down to play along your folds, wetting his fingers until he can push one into you with little resistance. You tense again, leaning back on your elbows while he works you, slowly pushing in and out, adding a finger and going slow until your muscles relax around him. You don’t know how no one’s yet come rushing in, you’re fairly certain your breathing can be heard from the building across the street.

“God, sugar, you feel so good, so perfect…”

He’s graceful as he stands, fingers still working you towards completion, and your breath hitches when you look at him. Tongue running over those sinfully pink lips, hair a mess and eyes glazed over with lust. Balancing your weight, you bring one hand up to pull him close, kissing him without a second thought and moaning into his mouth when you taste yourself, sweet and tangy on his tongue. You need him, need to feel him as close as he was then, fused and fluid within you. You’re thankful he’s not wearing a belt, jeans low on his hips when you reach between you to fumble with the button.

“So eager, aren’t you? Lemme take care of you.”

Your hands are gently pried from him, placed again at your sides to hold the edge. Hal’s holding your gaze, biting his lip while he unbuttons his jeans, pulling out his hard cock, stroking it a few times. Sense memory kicks in, the burn of the stretch, the delicious friction of his thrusts, the frenzy that preceded his release; it feeds your arousal. You only snap out of your thoughts when something tears, and your gaze drops.

“I was unprepared last time…  _shit…_ ” You blush, unable to look away as he rolls the rubber over his length, squeezing around the base. “Not taking chances this time, sweetheart. Wanna feel you all the way, want your squeezin’ to push me over and I don’t wanna pull out.”

He’s hard and heavy between you, and you try to recall if he seemed this big last time. Swallowing, you nod, pulling him in by his neck for heated kiss, silently begging him to take you. His lips are on yours in a heartbeat, easing you back a little while he closes the distance, hands running down your arms and legs before venturing back up to drag the head of his cock through your slickness. A subdued whine escapes you, followed by a sharp inhale when the head is slowly pushed inside.

“Just breathe, baby,” he whispers, his grip on your thighs tightening ever so slightly. “I’ll go slow… Fuck… Gonna be so good to you, sugar, you feel so goddamn perfect already. Ready for me?”

You nod, afraid that if you open your mouth, you won’t be able to stop talking, stop making noise, and that is exactly what you can’t do. Moving to cling to him, you take a deep breath, your eyes falling close as he pushes forward. Your body welcomes him back, the smooth drag not as painful as it was then. The friction is still slightly uncomfortable, a dull ache mixed with sparks of pleasure as he fills you. It doesn’t stop your body from reacting instinctively, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold him close the second his hips are flush with your core. It’s a feeling you can’t explain, a feeling you wish to relish and remember forever, of intimacy and fulfillment, of breathing through your nose as you contract around his length to get reacquainted with the idea of having someone so close it feels like your melding.

You need more, need him, your nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders to spur him on. It pulls a hiss from him, a buck of his hips that nudges at something inside of you that would have you moaning if your teeth weren’t clenched together. Quickly inhaling, you open your eyes again, finding his blue ones immediately.

“There you are.” Hal smiles, slowly pulling out, letting you feel every inch of him. “So pretty for me, sugar, keeping quiet so no one hears us. God, I wish I could take my time with you, but I know they’ll come look for you soon. Gonna have to give it to you quick, baby. I… _shit…_ You gotta tell me if it doesn’t feel good, okay? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Nodding, you pull him in for a kiss, effectively smothering your keening when he pushes in again, setting a nice, languid pace to start. You wonder if all sex is like this, if it would feel like this with someone else, or if this is all Hal. Would you risk your employment for someone else? Would your pleasure build as quickly? The snap of his hips increase in increments, upping the tempo bit by bit until he’s slamming into you, the denim of his jeans creating a burning friction against your thighs. With a whimper, you ease further back, pulling your knees higher to escape the scalding warmth, hissing when your underwear bites sharply into the crease of your thigh.

“God, oh, god…” Hal sounds absolutely wrecked, sounds the way you feel. “I know, baby, I know.” He briefly slows down enough to be able to let go of your thighs and gently pry your hands from around his neck, letting you lie back on the desk completely. Rucking up your skirt more, he grabs your legs, parting you as far as he can, soothing down the redness on your thighs. “Oh, sugar, if you could see yourself… So fuckin’ beautiful all spread out. I could watch myself slide in and outta you all day, baby.”

“Hal…” You bite down on your lower lip hard, only just stopping the moan that wanted to follow his name. The slow, measured push and pull of his length has pleasure tripping up and down your spine, dragging over that delicious spot and you want more.

“I know what you want,” he continues, pushing in and rutting right into that spot and your heart threatens to somersault out of your chest. “This is it, right here, isn’t it? You need me here, don’t you? Don’t you, sugar?”

Nodding fervently, you try to breathe through your nose, your throat full of noises and praise and curses unbecoming of your setting. Hal doesn’t mind. In fact, your attempts to stay quiet spur him on, making him rut harder into you, leaning down to nuzzle against your blouse, your nipples hard and sensitive underneath.

“You squeeze me so good. You think you’ll be able to stay quiet when you come, hmm? God, I remember the noises you made like it was yesterday, been playin’ in my ears every time I’ve touched myself.”

Your back arches off the desk, his words and the insistent stimulation pushing you ever closer to orgasm. Immediately, your mind conjures up images to accompany his words, of Hal spread out on beds, hard cock in his hand, working frantically to bring himself to completion, your name on his lips. It’s so much like your own way of dealing with your arousal, of touching yourself and imagining your fingers more calloused, trying to will your body to think it’s being cared for by him.

This is different. This is real. He is here, coaxing pleasure from you like a maestro playing an instrument, each undulation of your body, each clench of your muscles a skillfully executed variation to the masterpiece at hand. He’s muttering again, but you’re lost in the sensations, barely registering when his hand slides down to grasp yours, pulling it up. You jerk when your fingers make contact with your clit, moving in tight circles under his guidance until you move on your own accord. He wants you there, in control, contributing, cooperating. Clinging to the mounting pleasure, you pull yourself back to the moment, to his voice, to the impact of his hips against you.

“That’s it, that’s it, oh god, baby.” His eyes are locked on your swirling fingers, something feral burning behind the blue. The sight of it tugs at the already tight coil inside you. “God forgive me, but fuck, you’re gonna make me come, sugar. So goddamn slick, touching yourself for me. You gonna come with me? C’mon sugar, want to feel you come around me.”

It’s not a sudden snap this time. It’s a slowly unfurling beast, readying itself to stretch its muscles and roar its presence. It’s a tidal wave that starts off slow, but within seconds you know it will consume you, leave you without control, and you strain for the last shreds of it before it’s too late.

“H-Hal.” Your voice sounds oddly brittle, but it catches his attention. “P-Please.  _Oh, god…_ Kiss me. N-need you to kiss me.” The last word ends in a whine that you have to swallow back to regain composure. “I’m so close, I- I can’t- I’ll be loud, please!”

The smile tugging at his lips looks equal parts smug and ruined, and you’re about to risk begging again when he leans down over you, trapping your hand between your bodies.

“Can’t stay quiet, baby? You wanna scream for me? Aw, but we know that can’t happen. You need me to help you, huh?” His smile grows wider when you nod. “Say please.”

It fuels the pleasure inside you, makes it boil hotter. You want to tell him you’re way past words, that you speak in moans and wordless stutters, but you know he wants to hear you and damn it, you want to obey. It almost comes out perfectly. Almost.

“Pleeaase…”

It’s wrapped in a moan, and it sets both of you off. Hal kisses you, pressure and frenzy above skill, swallowing the moans that now flow freely as you relinquish your body to the pleasure. The desk underneath you shudders from the force of Hal’s thrusts, your fingers working as nimbly as they can, washing you in wave after wave of pleasure that pulls at your body. You shake underneath him, tensing when he gives a final hard thrust and it’s your turn to silence his peak. You feel every jerk of him as he releases, a gratification in its own right that has you breathing deeply trying to find your body again through the haze.

There’s no time to cuddle, to sweet talk this time. There’s barely time for kisses, for sweet nothings while he pulls out, for sheepish glances and reddened cheeks while you right your clothing, repin your hair. Slowly, you shrink back into a form that will leave you invisible yet vulnerable to the world outside, glancing fitfully at Hal.

“I should- I’m gonna-” You let out a huff, shaking your head before you look at him again. “I know you can’t stay. I didn’t expect it. I’m… I’m gonna go out, get back to my desk. Wait a couple of seconds before you leave. You don’t have to say goodbye, not now, not before you walk out of here. It’s okay.”

There is something soft about him like this, in this moment when there is no clear protocol for how to proceed. You’re letting him off the hook because you know you can’t keep him and he is grateful that you’re not trying to. Still, when you move to walk past him, he grabs your hand, soft but insistent.

“Hal…”

“It’s not a goodbye, sweetheart.” He brings up your hand to touch his lips to your knuckles, the smile that follows imploring and kind. “Just… remember me?”

You can’t kiss him now, the time for that has passed, but your heart melts at his words, an inversion of your last meeting. Squeezing his hand lightly, you nod, reaching for the doorknob as you let go of each other.

“Always, Hal.”


End file.
